The Two Women
by unsweetenedladykisses
Summary: Jackson had two important women in his life, and he had lost them both. MILEY/JACKSON. No incest.


**A/N: **THERE IS NO INCEST IN THIS STORY.

Alright, I realize this is a really strange pairing, but I don't think I've ever written a pairing that I particularly like or whatnot. I'm all about challenges, so yeah, everything I write is going to be a bit unconventional (for me at least). Also I'd like to make it known that I do not support incestuous relationships in any way, so please spare me the sermon.

On a different note, I am still writing Good and Broken and am in the process of getting through the next chapter; major writer's block for a bit.

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Hannah Montana, Disney, or anything else copyrighted in this writing. This is a work of fiction and does not express the actual thoughts and actions of the characters or the actors/actresses who play them.

Warnings: There's really nothing inappropriate in this fic save, well, the general idea. **If you're going to post with anything along the lines of "you're sick" or "this is gross," don't bother.**

Okay boring stuff aside, on with the story.

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Jackson Stewart was an unusual young man. Besides his unruly, ruffled-looking sandy blond hair, bedroom that looked like it had been destroyed by Hurricane Jackson, and friendship with a fellow seventeen year old who churned butter just for kicks, he was also an extremely pensive person. Oh yes, odd as it might seem, Jackson had a curiously deep side that scarcely a soul knew about. Perhaps it was his boyish face or crazy antics, but nobody would have guessed that this ill-behaved teenager lay alone in his bed at night, contemplating and questioning all of life's mysteries. However, there were reasons to explain this strange behavior, reasons that you are sure to understand momentarily…

--

Jackson peered around the corner of the front door warily, checking to see if the coast was clear. Assured that he was quite alone, the seventeen year old turned around to retrieve a sparkling silver box. He lifted the package easily and strolled into the house, tucking the parcel carefully under the couch and sitting down contentedly.

He breathed in deeply. _Home_.

The word had special meaning to Jackson. Although they had left their first one back in Tennessee, the two-floored building the Stewarts now occupied had become a trusty safe haven from the outside world. Of course, it could never feel quite the same in Malibu for one definite reason. Jackson, unlike the rest of his family, had taken his mother's death in stride, forcing himself to be the strong one in this situation. God knows, somebody had to be.

This was not because he was insensitive or didn't love his mother. Rather the opposite, in fact- he loved her so much that he reasoned he had to continue his life as normally as possible, if not for his sake as much as hers. It was excruciatingly painful, emotionally devastating to be sure, but it seemed to him that no one would gain a thing in moping about.

Despite his belief, Jackson missed her terribly not only part of the time, but all of the time. His mother had been the one person who fully understood both Jackson's playful and thoughtful sides. Eyes casting about the room, he took in every item occupying the space with a deep sigh, noticing objects that had been accumulated before and after the tragedy. His gaze fell upon one piece of furniture in particular and his lips tugged into a faint smile. The story of how Susan Stewart had acquired that remarkably bright and vivaciously colored table, legs and all, was a testament to her quirky personality.

Yes, sometimes Jackson longed for days past, but today was not really an appropriate one for him to be swept up in nostalgia.

As if on cue to remind him this, Robby Ray appeared at the foot of the stairs, caution plastered on his features.

He whispered just loud enough for Jackson to hear. "You got it, boy?"

The blonde nodded affirmatively and spoke at normal volume. "Sure do."

His father's eyes widened almost comically, panic evident on his face. Jackson chuckled. "She's not here yet, dad."

Stubborn as a mule, the longer-haired man remained stern. "Don't matter if she ain't here yet, bud, it's just good custom not to shout."

Jackson rolled his eyes, and not a moment too soon. His sister had materialized, her back to the doorway and hand waved in farewell to an unknown friend, likely Lilly or Oliver. Jackson jerked his head quickly toward the slim figure at the entrance to the house and joined his father as they scampered into the kitchen. A creak was audible as the sole female in the vicinity entered the room. In most unladylike fashion, she opened her mouth wide and bellowed, "Dad, I'm h-"

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" was the response roared back to her as her two immediate family members leapt into her line of vision. A wild grin grew rampant on her face and she threw her arms first around Robby Ray, clinging on in an attempt to convey her love and appreciation. Next was Jackson, and as she rested her pretty brown girls on his shoulder, his mood rapidly became murky. Miley smelled of lilac and rain and he hated himself for noticing. He also disliked the way that she fit perfectly into his arms. And he could feel her delicately beating heart through the thin gray fabric of his shirt. He hated that, too.

The second the two separated, Jackson hastily put distance between his sister and he, not wanting for Miley to see the pain that had clouded over his eyes. Hoping his voice hadn't become unnaturally squeaky with hurt, he called over his shoulder, "Got something for you, Miles."

Miley clapped her hands in excitement and Jackson willed himself not to think about how adorable her child-like glee was. After all, he wasn't stupid. He knew that not only would his feelings never be reciprocated, but also they were downright morally wrong. And so it was with burning shame that he ever shared his sister's company, creating excuses to be out of her sight in order to not feel so wicked.

Jackson grabbed the package he had brought in earlier and turned around with a forced smile, offering the metallic-covered box out to his delighted sibling.

"Thanks!" she said with such earnest, innocent gratitude that the guilt in Jackson's stomach threatened to bubble over. She was his sister, his baby sister…

But she was not a little kid anymore, and that made it all so much worse. At fifteen years to the day, Miley had grown into a stunningly beautiful young woman. Her hair fell about her face, framing it wonderfully with several shades of chestnut brown. Her blue eyes held a distinctive sparkle in them so that although they were the color of ice, they held none of its chill. And two pale pink lips curved slightly upwards adorned an ever-present, Cheshire cat-like grin with the ease of habit. And her appearance was not the only thing that had matured. Although never cruel, in her younger days the word 'bratty' could be used to describe her attitude occasionally. However, for the most part that adjective had been left back in Tennessee, buried with their mother, when both children had both been forced, too young, to grow up.

With a shake of his head, Jackson tried to clear his thoughts. Unfortunately, this hope was dashed the moment Miley had, after several long seconds of painfully careful peeling, pulled off the top to her present and squeaked with glee. The happiness radiating off her face would be most accurately expressed as angelic as she revealed a pair of shoes; some new fad she had been dying to get in on since the summer had begun.

"Oh my god! Thank you so so so so much!" she rushed, once more enveloping Jackson in a tight hug. He put his arm around her dutifully although secretly wanting to yank it away immediately. It was not right, not right, the white-hot pinpricks that ensued, the steady thump of pain in his heart. His chest constricted as he choked out a "you're welcome" as he realized that even in a lawless world, he would never be able to come this close without feeling _sick_.

He released her from the hug in relief and briefly questioned when things had become to feel different to him. Coming up with no answer, Jackson only ruefully regretted whenever that moment had been for it had been then that along with his mother, his sister had become dead to him. The normal feelings of siblinghood were long gone, cruelly replaced with ones of attraction and a deeper love. He tightened his hand into a fist, knuckles turning white with strain and nails biting viciously into his palm. He acknowledged venomously that he deserved every second of the pain.

Turning again to watch Miley sit leisurely at the dinner table, laughing happily, Jackson found it quite ironic that today, on the day Susan Stewart had given birth to his sister, he wished very dearly that Miley had been her first, and only, child.

--

I just wanted to try something new, to be honest. If you're so inclined, do leave your thoughts.


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